All for All
Summary:
In the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry will either gain everything – or lose everything. This is life – to gain all, one must first risk all.
Chapter One – Bruises And A Beginning
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is definitely not mine. Anything you don't may possibly be original.
"The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself." – Mark Twain
In a small garden overshadowed by an ancient yew tree, a little girl of seven knelt on the dry grass. It was the middle of the afternoon, and boiling hot, but in front of her a small, black-and-white kitten crouched uncertainly. The girl slowly reached out a hand, and cautiously, the cat edged closer to sniff it. Sensing no danger, it allowed itself to be stroked gently. Cat and girl sat in mutual affection for a few minutes.
A sudden bang from inside the house jerked them out of their revere. All traces of comradeship disappeared as the kitten tensed, its hair standing on end. Loud voices and unpleasant laughter were heard, and then – a scream. The girl jumped up, her eyes wide. Unheeded, the cat fled into the shadows of the yew tree, and watched the girl run into the house's dark interior, her blonde plaits swinging to and fro as she pattered up the steps barefoot. As she entered the house, her eyes blinking furiously to return her vision, the sounds of struggling reached her ears. The noise was coming from the kitchen. She tip-toed to the door, opened it an inch and peered through the gap.
Figures in black were standing in the kitchen.
"Crucio." Desperate screams echoed through the room. The little girl put her hands over her ears, petrified, but she couldn't run – her body had frozen. The screams stopped. A voice that would send chills down the spine of any man was heard.
"Wormtail…open the door."
"Yes, my lord."
Before she could move, the door creaked open slowly and her hiding place was revealed.
A man lay on the floor, dead. A woman with beautiful blonde hair much like her daughters' was huddled in next to him, her dry sobs echoing in the otherwise silent room.
"What is your name?"
The voice spoke again and the girl looked up into the face it belonged to – white and snakelike, with red eyes that burned with malice, and he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature's began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape – it seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil - …and neither can live while the other survives… - 'Use it if you need me, alright?' – 'You are very kind, Harry, but your blood is worth more than mine.' – 'Avada Kedavra!' – 'Not Harry, please not Harry!' – 'AVADA KEDAVRA!'
Harry woke up.
He stared up at the ceiling of his room in number four, Privet Drive, and waited for his heart to slow down. After a moment he sat up, rubbing his eyes – they had already begun to adjust to the half-light – and looked at his alarm clock. Three o'clock in the morning. Great. Just great. He sighed in annoyance, not really wanting to go back to sleep and face more nightmares.
Harry had been at Privet Drive for just under two weeks now. The Dursleys, particularly Uncle Vernon, had not been at all pleased about their nephew's early arrival. Dudley was still away at school, Aunt Petunia avoided Harry as much as possible and Uncle Vernon was certainly never around, but the few words that had been exchanged had led Harry to suspect that things weren't going so well for the Dursleys – Uncle Vernon in particular. Understatement of the century Harry thought grimly. He winced, remembering the night before, when he had been woken from a vivid nightmareby his Uncle grabbing hold of his left arm, hard. Lucky he didn't go for my neck, he told himself. I might've found that a bit harder to hide. When he had visited Ron and the rest of the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place last week, he had been careful to make sure that the hand-shaped bruise was covered by his shirt sleeve. He wasn't sure what was stopping him from telling someone, but he felt it would be stupid to go running to the Weasleys – or even Hermione – about it when there really wasn't anything anyone could do to change the situation. He had to be at the Dursleys for another two weeks at least, and if anyone decided he should stay for longer he only had to wait for the end of July before he could do whatever he wanted. He imagined walking away from Privet Drive for the last time and smiled. Finally. Slowly he drifted off into daydream upon daydream.
When he next opened his eyes, the sun was just peeking in through his window, and he glanced at the clock. Six o'clock. He just had time to go downstairs and grab breakfast before his Aunt and Uncle got up. Then he could guarantee not having to see them for a few hours.
Harry had been avoiding his aunt and uncle a lot recently. It worked quite well; he made sure to get up early enough to have breakfast before them, he made his lunch early and ate it outside whenever he felt like it, and at dinner he'd eat as quickly as possible and leave the table as soon as he could. Other than meals, he rarely saw them anyway, so there was no problem there. He'd visited Grimmauld Place three times in the last two weeks, getting there via the floo at Mrs Figg's house, and not coming back until late evening. He was going there again today – and Hermione was going to be there too. She'd been spending the last two weeks with her parents, on holiday in Spain for some of the time, and she had written that she couldn't wait to see them all again. Harry wasn't sure if he felt the same. He might have been able to fool the Weasleys with a bit of luck, but Hermione would be more difficult. She would want to know everything about Harry's time with the Dursleys, and she would probably be the one person aside from Mrs Weasley to ask why he was wearing long sleeves in the middle of June.
Harry sighed, got up, and walked downstairs.
Ron paced nervously up and down in front of the fireplace. Hermione would be there any minute now –
The fire flashed green and a girl with long bushy hair stepped through into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
"Hello Ron," Hermione said. She smiled and Ron furiously tried to ignore the stupid things his stomach did when he saw her.
"Hi 'mione. Harry's getting here around midday today, so you've got an hour or so before he gets here, unless he's early, which he is sometimes…" Ron bit down on his lip to try to stop himself talking. Hermione seemed to be trying not to laugh as she spoke.
"Do you want to play chess?" Ron nodded, relieved to have something else to think about. As they walked out into the hall, he heard his mother bustling around a floor above. He paused and called up to her,
"Hermione's here, mum."
"Alright, dear. Call me if you need anything."
A few minutes later they were sat in the drawing room, either side of a chessboard. Hermione spoke.
"How's Harry?" Ron's bishop captured Hermione's pawn.
"Ok. At least, he's pretending to be," Ron said. Hermione had been scrutinizing the board, but at this she looked up.
"What do you mean?"
Ron ran a hand through his hair.
"I think the muggles are giving him a hard time again." Hermione bit her lip, worried.
"When did you say he was getting here?"
"Midday."
"So we can check up on him then, right?"
"I s'pose." Ron shrugged.
The game continued. Hermione surprised Ron with a carefully placed knight, but he was soon back on form.
"Checkmate." Ron grinned. It was nice to be able to beat Hermione at something, even if it was just a game. She, however, looked rather put out, as she always did on the few occasions that he actually out did her. He began to pack away the pieces.
"What's the time?" Hermione asked.
"Half-past eleven."
They walked through to the kitchen. They had just reached the fireplace when the flames flashed green. As the thin frame and messy black hair of his best friend began to materialize in the grate, Ron thought about how difficult this year would be. He had no idea how right he was.
So there's chapter one! I hope you like it! I've written one fanfiction before, not here, but I didn't plan it and I didn't (and still don't) know how to end it. I know Harry/Ginny-ness isn't there quite yet, but it will get there in the next two-three chapters.
Oh, and the familiar quotes that made up part of Harry's nightmares – from "he was locked in the coils…" to "Not Harry, please not Harry!" – are taken from the English Hardback/Paperback copies of Prisoner of Azkaban, Order of the Phoenix, and Half-Blood Prince.
Thank you for reviewing (Hint, hint).
Hazel.